Sammy and Apple Pie and No Dean
by LookCloser2
Summary: It's always been Sam and Dean. But now Dean is dying, and Sam can't save him. WINCEST
1. In The Beginning

I wrote this story as a challenge for myself but I posted it for feedback on my writing. Reviews are always appreciated. Enjoy.

When Dean was four and Sam was a baby, Dean saved his little brother's life for the first time. After that he made sure that Sam was always safe. John looked on and was glad that his boys had such a special connection, especially for those times that John couldn't be there for them.

John Winchester was a hunter. He was a father, too, and once he had been a husband, but he was a hunter most of all. Since the night Mary had been taken he had committed his life to hunting down the evil that had taken his beloved wife. He left his boys at home when he left on his trips, knowing that they could take better care of each other than he ever could of them.

Dean Winchester watched over his brother. He made sure that there was always cereal in the cabinet for Sammy's breakfast and that his homework was done for school. Every night he checked in the closet and under the bed for the monsters, even though he always told Sammy that there was no such thing as monsters. Because Dean protected his little brother. He kept him safe from the evil lurking in the shadows and he kept him safe from the knowledge that it was there.

Sam Winchester wanted to grow up to be just like Dean. In his young mind, his older brother was the epitome of a hero. Dean cooked him dinner, even if it was just macaroni and cheese or spaghettios, walked him down the block to kindergarten, read him bedtime stories, and tucked him in at night. When John was home Sam asked him to read the story, but it was still Dean who tucked him in and kissed him goodnight. That was the way it had always been.

When Dean was twelve and Sam was eight, Dean told his little brother the truth about the monsters in the closet.

"Will they come and try to get me, Dean?" asked Sam.

"They might," replied Dean, quietly. "Don't worry, Sammy. I'll always watch over you."

And he did. When Sam started having nightmares about getting snatched away in his sleep, John gave him a .45. But Dean was there to hold him and whisper soothing words. When Sam woke up screaming because he saw a yellow-eyed demon in his dreams, Dean rubbed his back until the shaky sobs evened out into soft, steady breaths and he fell fast asleep.

After that, Sam climbed into Dean's bed at nighttime. He couldn't fall asleep alone, but with his brother's arms holding him tightly and his gentle breaths tickling Sam's ear, sleep came easily. He never had nightmares when he slept with Dean.

They moved from town to town and John taught Dean and Sam to hunt. And for nine years Dean watched and held Sammy as he slept. Dean knew that that was the way it was supposed to be. It was his job to take care of Sammy, as it had been since the day John placed Sammy in his arms and whispered, "Now, Dean, go!"

Sam was fourteen when he had his first kiss. Dean had just gotten home from a date and climbed into bed with Sam. Sam could still smell the girl's perfume. "Dean, what's it like?" Sam asked.

"Hmm, Sammy? What's what like?"

"Getting kissed. What's it like?"

"Go to sleep, Sammy," Dean groaned into his pillow.

"Please, Dean?"

Dean propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over to kiss Sam on the lips. "There. That's what it's like, Sammy. Now will you go to sleep?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Dean." Sam curled up and his breaths quickly relaxed into a steady pattern. Dean lay awake for a long time, wondering why kissing his little brother had felt so good.

When Sam was seventeen he told John and Dean that he was leaving for college. John nodded and told him to find a girl he loved and settle down, get out of this hunting business for good. Dean grabbed the keys to his Impala and took off.

Sam went to bed alone that night. Just before dawn he was woken as Dean climbed into the bed and wrapped his arms around Sam, leaving goodnight kisses on the back of his head and neck. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm so sorry." He drunkenly murmured the words into Sam's messy, golden hair. "I'm going to miss you when you're gone." Sam rolled over and snuggled closer to Dean, seeking the comfort he had found in his brother's arms many times before.

Dean's arms tightened, pulling him in against his chest, and then suddenly stopped. "Look at me, Sammy," he demanded. Sam looked up, his face streaked with tears. "Shhh, it's okay," Dean soothed. "You'll be okay. Everything will be okay." He wiped the tears from Sam's cheeks before suddenly leaning in for a kiss.

As quickly as he had kissed Sam, Dean pulled back, aghast. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I didn't mean it, okay? I just – I'm sorry." But Sam shook his head and smiled gently through his tears. He leaned in for another kiss and this time Dean didn't pull away. Together they sook answers and together they found the strength to get through another night without them.

Morning came all too quickly as the brothers woke sleepy and tangled in the sheets. "About last night…" Sam spoke up, contemplatively.

"You're leaving," said Dean gruffly. "That's good. Get a fresh start. Put all this behind you."

John entered the room and that was the last time they spoke about it for four long years. Sam found happiness at Stanford, a "normal, apple pie life" as Dean would have called it. Sam hadn't seen Dean in four years, since the day he watched the taillights of the Impala drive away and leave him behind. They talked on the phone, but it wasn't the same. For months, Sam struggled to fall asleep alone. Then he met Jess, and it seems as if the world almost made sense again. He told her about his father and his brother, told her he missed them, especially his brother. She told him that she loved him. Sam didn't understand why, when he said it back, an image of Dean's face flashed through his mind.

Four years. Four fucking years. Dean ground the Impala to a stop and jumped out, slamming the door shut. He tried to be quiet when he entered Sam's apartment, but he hadn't expected the guitar and schoolbooks lying by the door or the computer chair that he tripped over. Suddenly, he found himself accosted from behind and hurled to the floor in the inky blackness. Dean's reflexes were quick and he quickly gained the upper hand over his assailant. "Sam," he hissed. "It's me." As soon as he spoke he found himself flat on his back again, wrists held tightly. "You always did like to be on top," laughed Dean. Even in the darkness he could see Sam's glare.

"Jerk," muttered Sam.

"Bitch," came the immediate reply.

Just like always.


	2. I'd Do Anything

I wrote this story as a challenge for myself but I posted it for feedback on my writing. Reviews are always appreciated. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

Dean and Sam left early the next morning to find their father. "I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business," said Dean.

"No," countered Sam. He had just applied to law school, found a girl he loved that he might one day marry, settle down with, have a nice house and two kids that had never heard of monsters in their closets.

Sam couldn't sleep that night because he missed the feel of Jessica's warm body beside him. After two hours of listening to Sam toss and turn, Dean pulled back the covers of his own motel bed. "Come on, Sammy. Climb in." They shared a bed that night for the first time in four years. To Dean, it felt like it had been forever. To Sam, it felt like he was finally home.

"You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful, I've never been," Sam told the angry spirit. She just smiled, as though she knew something he was about to find out. Flashes of Dean, Dean leaning against the Impala, Dean tucking him in and kissing him goodnight, Dean actually kissing him the night before he left for school, ran through his head as he collapsed unconscious to the ground.

"Sam? Sammy?" He heard his name slicing through the fogginess in his brain. He opened his eyes but the white burst of brightness was painful and he closed them again. "Oh, Sammy, Thank God," said the voice, and Sam recognized it as Dean's. "I had pegged you for a goner, man."

It was November and Jessica was dead when Sam got attacked by the werewolf. There were three of them, actually, and it took all of Sam and Dean's strength combined to destroy them and save themselves. At the motel Dean gently peeled off Sam's shredded clothes and tossed them in a bloody pile on the bathroom floor.

He helped Sam into the shower, but the painful cry when the water hit Sam's back had Dean turning off the water immediately. In the end, Sam lay propped up against Dean in the bathtub, as Dean used a washcloth to rub all the dirt and blood from Sam's sliced up back. Dean was thankful that Sam was too out of it to notice the hard pressure against his lower back.

Carefully, Dean pulled the covers over a drugged up Sam and climbed in beside him. Sam's breaths were ragged, but it comforted Dean to just know that they were there. He didn't sleep all night, for the fear that he would wake up and the room would be silent.

Sam could smell the perfume as Dean stumbled into the motel room and collapsed onto the bed, struggling to pull his shoes off. Dean could smell the alcohol on Sam's breath as he whispered hello.

"Sam. Have you been drinking?" Sam smiled guiltily.

"I was lonely. You weren't here. I had some beer left from the last time we raided the liquor store." Dean smiled at the memory. The man behind the counter had asked just how many people were coming to this party to consume all that alcohol.

Most nights were like this. Dean would go out to the nearest bar and Sam would sit in the motel room, poring over leads. His laptop would be perched on his lap, a book opened on the table, and a bottle of beer sitting nearby if he was in the mood. Dean would come back early in the morning, smelling like perfume, or sometimes cologne. Sometimes Sam wondered about it, but when Dean wrapped his arms around him and held him close, nothing else mattered anymore.

The night Dean came back thoroughly trashed was the night neither would forget for a long time. That night, Dean definitely smelled like cologne.

"Dean, what's it like?" he asked as he had all those years before, his words slurring slightly. He'd been especially lonely tonight, missing Jessica, and had drunk more than usual.

"What's what like?" Dean's voice was grumpy, a mixture of tiredness and too much alcohol.

You know, being with a guy, Dean. What's it like?"

"Go to sleep, Sammy," Dean groaned into his pillow.

"Please, Dean?"

Dean propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over to kiss Sam on the lips. "There. That's what it's like, Sammy. Now will you go to sleep?"

"No," said Sam. "What's it really like?"

"C'mon, Sammy, did you want me to show you?"

"No…" whispered Sam, so neither could understand why in the next moment both had discarded their pajamas and were kissing as though it was the last time they would ever be loved on this Earth.

Dean woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache. His boxers were on the floor and he leaned over and pulled them on before getting up. He grabbed his wallet from the bedside table and tiptoed out of the room to find food.

Sam woke up alone. The sheets around him were cold and slightly damp; at first he thought his hazy memories had been no more than a wet dream. But then the door opened and his brother was standing there with hot coffee and doughnuts and Sam knew that it had been real.

_"Sammy, we can't do this," panted Dean, leaning back from their last kiss._

_"I know," whispered Sammy._

_"Because we're brothers."_

_"I know."_

_"Good," said Dean, and he kissed Sam long and hard. Slowly, he shifted, kissing down Sam's neck, down his taut, tanned chest, flicking out his tongue to trace the top of Sam's boxers._

_"Dean?" asked Sam._

_"Yeah, Sammy?"_

_"I'm scared." Dean felt him tremble as he looked up and rested his chin on Sam's stomach._

_"We can stop, if you want."_

_"No. No, I don't want to stop, Dean."_

_"Don't worry, Sammy. I'll always take care of you." Gently he lifted Sam's hips and slid his boxers off. "I'd never hurt you, Sammy."_

_When they finally fell asleep, warm and spent, Sam was curled against Dean's chest and Dean's arms were around him._

_"I love you," murmured Sam._

_"I love you, too," Dean whispered back. A tear fell from his cheek onto Sammy's soft curls. He was so glad to have his brother back with him, feeling his heartbeat as he slept, safe, innocent, pure Sammy. He just hoped that Sam wouldn't regret this in the morning._

_Sam kept his eyes shut and his breathing steady as Dean cried. He wondered if Dean regretted it already, hoped that he didn't. It had always been the two of them against the world, a perfect team. He didn't want that to ever change._

"I found us food," said Dean, from the door. "Go take a shower and get cleaned up, then we'll eat."

"Will you come with me?" questioned Sam.

"Sammy…" Dean warned, but it was a feeble protest. He would do anything Sammy asked him to, and he was powerless to stop himself.

John Winchester wasn't supposed to be there. He had told the boys that he would be back in two days, but he had killed the demon more quickly than he'd thought he would and driven most of the night to return to his boys. Looking back, he probably shouldn't have jiggled open the lock to the motel room door in the middle of the night. When he pushed it open the moonlight shone on the brothers in the bed. Sam was moaning softly as Dean kissed him. Their naked skin glistened with sweat and John shut the door quickly. He briefly wondered if it was a mistake, if he had gotten the wrong room, but the Impala was parked right outside and it was the only car in the lot. John slept in the car that night and when he knocked on the boys' room the next morning, pretending he had just arrived, he didn't say anything.

Sam was out finding breakfast when Dean spoke up.

"Dad, you're acting strangely."

"Just tired, is all," said John Winchester. "The demon put up a good fight."

"I saw you last night," replied Dean. "When you opened the door. Sammy didn't see, but I did."

John sighed. "How long, Dean?"

"Since the night he left for college. It just happened."

John nodded, slowly, accepting. "You two were always closer than any brothers I knew. I think it was because you were all each other had. I wasn't the best father, Dean."

"Dad," spoke Dean. "Don't blame yourself. You couldn't have known. You can't change the way things were, the way things are."

"Dean?" asked John, and he sounded so much like Sammy, lost and alone.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Be careful with him, okay? It hasn't been easy on him. This isn't the life he was supposed to have." John spoke quietly, rubbing his hand over his eyes in defeat. In some ways, he was horrified. Two brothers – it wasn't normal. But then, since when had the Winchester men's lives ever been normal? That had ended twenty-four years ago, in a fire-encased nursery, if normal had ever even existed. He was just glad the boys had each other. God knows they needed a friend.

"I know, Dad," said Dean. "I know."

Dean Winchester was a hunter like his father. His life was dedicated to fighting evil and killing demons, and he was good at it. Really good. But more than that, Dean Winchester was an older brother. Sammy was his one weakness. _There would be hell to pay if the demons ever discovered that_Dean thought. He didn't know how right he was.

Dean was twenty-eight and Sam was twenty-four when Sam died. Dean made a deal with the devil to bring his brother back – a deal that would be sealed with Dean's death in one year. Dean didn't mind an eternity in hell, not if it meant that Sammy was still alive. He would do anything for Sammy, and the Crossroads Demon now knew it.


	3. Can't Save You

I wrote this story as a challenge for myself but I posted it for feedback on my writing. Reviews are always appreciated. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

Many nights now, Dean came home from the bar smelling like perfume or cologne. He told Sam that he wanted to make the most of the time he had left. With those words Sam would withdraw into himself, unable to contemplate a world without his older brother in it. But the night would always end with Sam and Dean wrapped up together and neither would have it any other way.

May 17, 2008. What will be the worst day of Sam's life. The end of Dean's life. They're in Kansas again. Dean Winchester gets up early and leaves without waking his brother. He doesn't want Sammy to see the life slip from his eyes. Even at the end, he is protecting his little brother. Sam Winchester wakes up alone for the first time in almost two years. He knows immediately what day it is, knows exactly how many hours he has left with Dean, how many minutes even. He wants desperately to save him, but he doesn't know how.

Dean is leaning against the Impala when Sam gets outside. He couldn't leave without saying goodbye. They spend the day with each other, relishing their last moments as brothers, and lovers.

"Maybe I'll come with you," says Sam, as he lies next to his brother.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll come with you. Hell can't be that bad if we're both there, right?" For a second Dean almost agrees with Sam. But then he shakes his head.

"No, Sammy. You can't come with me."

"But I love you, Dean. I have to save you, because I love you." Sam's crying now, his shoulders shaking as he sobs.

"It doesn't always work that way, Sammy. Sometimes you can't save the people you love." Dean reasons with him, even as it breaks his heart.

"But you did." There's desperation in Sam's eyes, in his tears. There's a fear of what will happen to him when Dean's not there anymore.

"Yes, and look what it cost me, Sammy. I'd do it all over again, though, because I know that you'll be okay. You have to find your normal, apple pie life, Sammy. Do that for me."

Dean waits until Sam falls asleep before untangling himself from his brother and sneaking outside.

Shortly before midnight Sam wakes alone. _This is the way it will be from now on, _Sam knows. He takes a cab to where he knows Dean would have gone – the place where it all began, the place they once called home. He sees the Impala parked out front, the moonlight shining on its hood. Sam gets out of the cab and walks through the long grass on the side of the house. The house has been rebuilt since the fire but Sam doesn't remember what it used to look like. Dean is sitting on the old swing under the oak tree in the backyard. He smiles sadly when he sees Sam.

"You shouldn't have come, Sammy. But I knew you would."

"You left. You left me alone again." Sam whispers the words, and he's not talking about waking up in the middle of the night alone. He's talking about all the nights he will spend alone from now on, all the empty days and long roads and no destination, just the monotonous purpose of killing evil spirits and losing himself in the process.

"I know." It's all Dean needs to say. He understands everything Sammy hasn't spoken aloud.

"Jerk," says Sammy.

"Bitch."

"Dean." Sam's voice breaks on the name. In it is a desperation for this all to be some joke, a plead for Dean to get up and say, "It's okay, Sammy. I found a loophole." It's an apology that Sam couldn't find a way to save his brother.

"Sammy." It's the last time he will say his little brother's name. They both know this now, that the end is near, and Sam kneels in the wet grass and lays his head on Dean's knee. Still sitting on the swing, Dean runs his fingers through Sam's curls, soothing him. They stay like that for several minutes, until a hall clock chimes inside the house. Midnight. Dean's hand stills on Sam's head, and it's all over. Sam's tears run down his cheeks to collect on Dean's knee.

He salts and burns the bones as he promised Dean he would. He buries the bones underneath the swing. He has to do it at night so that he is not seen. In the darkness Sam can almost feel Dean there, wrapping his arms around him tight. "It's okay, Sammy," whispers Dean. "I'm still right here."


	4. Two Weeks Later

I wrote this story as a challenge for myself but I posted it for feedback on my writing. Reviews are always appreciated. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

Two weeks later, Sam finds the answer. It was sitting in the book of charms all along. He chants the incantation over the gravesite as the wind picks up. When it reaches a full gale, and Sam is holding onto a tree branch so that he doesn't fly away, the wind drops to nothing. There is silence.

"Sammy!" cries a voice, and Sam knows before he turns around that it is his brother. He spins slowly, and from the corner of his eye he sees a figure walk out from the house and the screen door bang shut behind him. And he can almost see him now, knows that Dean is running toward him, laughing, with open arms. And then he wakes up.

It's the same dream every time. It's been two years, and he still can't let Dean go. He always wakes up just before he sees Dean's face, just before Dean hugs him and wraps his arms around him as if he'll never let go again. But Dean isn't there anymore, to hold him when he wakes up from these dreams. This time, Sammy couldn't save him. Dean is gone.


	5. Epilogue

I wrote this story as a challenge for myself but I posted it for feedback on my writing. Reviews are always appreciated. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

EPILOGUE: FOUR YEARS LATER

Dean runs out of the house, laughing, and the screen door bangs shut behind him. He runs toward Sam, who is standing by the old oak tree in the backyard, and Sam picks him up and swings him around.

Again, Daddy," cries two year old Dean, and Sam complies. He would do anything for his son, for Dean.

Anna leans against the stair railing by the back door and watches her husband and son play. She enjoys these moments, enjoys seeing Sam happy. It took a long time after his brother died before he learned to smile again. He hadn't told her much about his brother, just that his name was Dean, and he loved him very much. There were a lot of things she still didn't know, things Sam wouldn't tell her – why Sam had so many scars, how his family had died, why he was so set on buying his childhood home, his strange addiction to apple pie, why he wouldn't ever let anyone call him Sammy.

Maybe she would learn these things in time, these details about the man she loved, who loved her. He was still so broken, but slowly he was healing. It would take time, and maybe he would never fully get over losing his older brother, but she would be there for him always. She and Dean. That was the way it was supposed to be.


End file.
